4/0/ 

cesc 


-liilA.     J ii-ic»»i.-.i»J*.,,..ij_. 


A 

A  ^ 

^ 

Ai 

-                 CO 

n  = 

~         — * 

0  m 

-  X 

^^^»  m 
=^  JO 

0  m 

=  rc 

4   ^ 

'                 ::Li 

1    ^ 

■          J> 

6  M 

:       ■=  CD 

-^..  H] 

4  ^ 

™             lO 

1   ^^ 

-   £> 

7  = 

^—  ^ 

— ( 

4    — 

"rriHge    Blossor^s,    "Ty'lultum   in  Parvo" 
Printed   Expressly  fov  Miss   Vienna 
Kstella   Cowan 


f 


11,    »'-.V  .'«,J 


irK^- 


;»■ 


f 


ORANGE  BL 


u 


MULTUM    IN    PARVO; 


I'laM'Ei)  ExrnE.ssi.v   i<u;   Miss  \'ii;x.\.v  Esthtja   Cnw.w. 


PRICE     FIFTY    CENTS, 


<  ►/ 


SA\   1  UA.Ni.  |S(.(> 
(    1   i;  I  i<  \  1   uMPAfjy,    Stkam    Hook    a  \  ji   J  <ii»,  P  R  t  NTKK  s  , 

(IS  Msirkct  Strvft,  l)clci)v  First. 
I  8  8  0  . 


■i  > 
■C-'  • 


EX    LIBRIS 


i   « •  ft  •  »  •    « ' 


•  • »    < 


«  « 


H 


MULTUM    IN   PARVO," 


k.- 


Mxtintc. 


This  choice  selection  of  Poems  was  arrano-ed  diiriiio- 
the  convalescence  of  Miss  Vinnie  from  that  painful 
and  so  often  fatal  illness  "  I^iphtheria."  "Once  more 
restored  to  the  sweet  breath  of  morn,  and  g'lad- 
some  beauty  of  the  day,"  she  forgets  not  to  thank 
the  "  pilotage "  which  guided  the  frail  l)ark  o'er 
paiii's  wild  waves.  Which  gives  the  Poem  "Conva- 
lescence" a  most  fitting  place  as  opening  Poem  of 
this  little  book,  the  motto  of  which  is  "  MuLXUJr  in 
Pakvo,"  "  much  in  a  little,"  which  is  beautifully 
summed  up  in  the  touching  address  of  the  mother 
to  the  one  who  stands  l)y  her  "bridal- wreathed  " 
daughter.  "The  Three  Little  Graves"  many  persons 
will  remember  having  heard  touchingly  recited  liy 
Miss  Vinnie. 

To  the  little  one  in  life's  spring  ;  to  the  beautiful 
in  summer's  bloom;  to  the  strong  in  golden  autumn  ; 
and  the  aged  in  gray  winter,  and  to  all  lovers  of  the 
jDure  and  good,  these  pages  are  respectfully  dedi- 
cated. 

ViENXA  EsTEI.T.A  COWAX. 


-.-^ 


■  / 


HA 


ORAXGE     BLOSSOMS. 


Conbalcsautc. 

Once  more  drawn  back  l)y  loving  hearts  and  hands 
From  the  dim  portals  of  the  world  to  come  ; 

Once  more  permitted  to  rejoin  the  bands 
Of  dear  ones  gathered  in  this  earthly  home. 

Once  more — once  more — (oh,  pilotage  most  rare, 
To  guide  so  worn  a  bark  o''er  stormy  seas  !) 

Safely  conveyed  through  surges  of  Despair, 

And  Pain's  wild  waves,  to  smiling  ports  of  Ease. 

Once  more  restored  to  the  sweet  breath  of  morn, 
And  all  the  gladsome'beauty  of  the  day  ; 

To  cheerful  sights  and  sounds  and  changes  born 
In  earth  and  air,  as  seasons  roll  away. 

Dear  Lord,  I  thank  Thee  for  this  boon  of  life  ! 

Granted  again  when  Death  stood  waiting  near  ; 
Still  is  the  gift  with  magic  sweetness  rife, 

Still  is  it  good  to  be  a  dweller  here. 

For  still  this  world,  despite  its  clouded  hours 
Of  care  and  ])ain,  is  woudj'ous  fair  to  me  ; 

Still,  in  the  glory  of  its  stars  and  flowers, 
And  .Summer  groves,  Paradise  1  see. 

And  here,  such  tcndo'  smiles  arouud  me  gleam, 
H(;re  meet  I  hearts  so  warm  and  words  so  fond, 

That  ever  into  this,  my  earthly  dreams, 

Gui(l(.'S  something  of  the  llcavi.'ii  that  lies  bevDud. 


4i- 


TlK'rcfore  1  fain  would  be  a  voyager  still 
Along  the  windings  ol  tins  phiasant  shon;  ; 

Thcrcfon^  I  bl<!ss  the  Powers  whose  gracious  will 
Hatli  gi\<!n  me  back  to  lifi'  and    love  once  moic. 

.\i  i;s.  Iv  S.  S\irni. 


.'511  HI  2 


fr 

I  ORANGE    BLOSSOMS 


6rofouTq. 


T 


Throug'hout  this  growing  season, 

Of  raiiiy  and  sun,  and  dew, 
I  feel  a  p-rowino-  in  me 

Of  all  things  good  and  true. 

The  green  grass  on  the  hill-toi)S, 
The  wheat-fields  of  the  land, 

The  green  thing's  in  my  garden. 
All  grow  up  and  expand. 

From  morning  until  evening. 

From  evening  until  dawn. 
The  chang-es  follow — follow — 

The  growth  goes  on  and  on. 

So  in  my  soul  and  spirit 

I  feel  a  reaching-  out. 
Up  over  strife  and  wcjrry. 

Up  over  fear  and  doubt. 

As  golden  rays  of  sunlight 
Draw  verdure  from  the  sod. 

So  by  His  loving  kindness 
My  soul  is  drawn  to  God. 

And  like  the  heats  of  noontide, 
.  And  like  the  healthful  rains. 
Have  been  the  fires  of  sorrow, 
Have  been  my  woes  and  pains. 

Has  all  this  growth  no  purpose  ':* 

Who  dares  to  say  niy  soul 
Shall  end  on  earth  its  mission. 

And  find  no  higher  goal  ? 

Whiter  than  any  harvest 

That  grows  upon  the  sod 
Are  the  truths  within  me  growing. 

To  lay  before  my  God. 

So  in  the  growing  season 

Of  Summer  and  of  youth, 
I  feel  my  soul  aiul  spirit 

Reach  upward  after  truth. 

Ella  Whekleij. 


'^*. 


ORANGE    BLOSSOMS. 


(L  j)TO  ICittlc  (!5rabi:s. 

It  was  autumn,  and  the  leaves  were  dry, 

That  rustled  on  the  ground  ; 
The  chilling  winds  went  whistling  by 

With  low  and  ])ensive  sound, 
As  through  the  graveyard's  lone  retreat. 

By  meditation  led, 
I  walked  with  slow  and  cautious  feet 

Above  the  sleeping  dead. 

Three  little  graves,  ranged  side  by  side. 

My  close  attention  drew, 
O'er  to  the  tall  grass-bending  side, 

And  one  seemed  fresh  and  new. 
As  lingering  there  I  mused  awhile 

On  death's  long,  dreamless  sleep. 
And  opening  life's  deceitful  smile, 

A  mourner  came  to  weep. 

Her  form  was  1)owed,  luit  not  with  years  ; 

Her  words  were  faint  and  few  ; 
And  on  those  little  graves  h(^r  tears 

Distilhid  like  evening  dew. 
A  ])ratt]ing  boy,  some  four  years  old, 

Her  trembling  hand  embraced. 
And  from  my  heart  the  tale  he  told 

Will  TH'ver  !)('  effaced. 

"■  ^huimia,  you  must  love  iiic  more, 

Yin-  little  sister  is  (lead. 
And  t'other  sister  dicil  hd'oi-c  ; 

.\nd  brother,  too,  you  said. 
-Mamma,  wliat  ma(h'  sweet  sister  die  V 

She  loved  me  when  \\c  |ih-i\ed  ; 
Voii  tohl  me,  if  I   wonhl  not  erv, 

\  ou 'd  show  me  where  she  hiid." 


ORANGE    BLOSSOMS. 


"  'Tis  here,  my  child,  where  sister  lies, 

Deep  buried  in  the  ground  ; 
No  light  comes  to  her  little  eyes, 

And  she  can  hear  no  sound." 
"  Mamma,  won't  she  Ije  afraid  to  lie 

In  that  dark  grave  to-night  *? 
\Yon't  she  l^e  very  cold  and  cry. 

Because  there  is  no  liji'ht '? 

"  Won't  she  be  hungry  there. 

And  want  some  food  to  eat  ? 
And  who  will  give  her  clothes  to  wear. 

And  keep  them  clean  and  neat  ? 
Papa  must  go  and  carry  some; 

I  'II  send  her  all  I  've  got; 
And  he  will  bring  sweet  sister  home; 

Mamma,  now  must  he  not  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  my  child,  that  cannot  be ; 

For  God,  who  saw  her  die. 
Looked  down  from  heaven  and  smiled, 

And  called  her  to  the  sky. 
Let  little  children  come  to  me. 

Once  our  dear  Saviour  said; 
And  in  his  arms  they  '11  always  be, 

And  He  will  give  them  bread." 


^ 


ORANGE     BLOSSOMS 


i 


ff'bc  'Cittic  aiioi)  that  Dici). 


k 


[The  late  Dr.  Chalmers  is  said  to  have  been  the  author  ot'  the  foHowing 
beautiful  lines,  written  on  the  occasion  of  the  death  of  a  youn^  son,  whom 
he  greatlv  loved  :] 

I  am  all  alone  in  my  chamber  now, 

And  the  midnight  hour  is  near, 
And  the  fagot''s  crack,  and  the  clock's  didl  tick, 

Are  the  only  sounds  I  hear  ; 
And  over  my  soul  in  its  solitude 

Sweet  feelino-s  of  sadness  g-lide  ; 
For  my  heart  and  my  eyes  are  full  when  I  tiiink 

01"  the  little  l)oy  that\lied. 

I  went  fine  night  to  my  father's  house — 

Went  lujine  to  the  dear  ones  all, 
And  softly  opened  the  garden  g'ate, 

And  softly  the  door  of  the  hall. 
My  mother  came  to  meet  her  son  — 

She  kissed  me,  and  then  she  sighed  ; 
And  her  head  fell  on  my  neck  as  she  wept 

For  the  little  boy  that  died. 

I  shall  miss  him  when  the  flowers  come 

In  tlic  garden  where  he  ])layed  ; 
1  shall  miss  him  more  by  the  Jireside, 

\\'hen  till-  flowers  are  all  decayed  ; 
I  shall  see  his  toys  ainl  his  em])tv  chaii', 

And  the  horse  he  used  to  lidc. 
And  they  will  sp(!ak  with  a  silent  si)eech 

Of  theJittle  boy  that  died. 

We  shall  go  home  to  oiu-  Father's  house — 

To  our  Father's  house  in  the  skies, 
"Where  the  ho]K>  of  sotds  shall  have  no  bliohf, 

( )iM'  love  no  broken  ties  ; 
We  shall  roam  on  the  banks  of  the  ii\-ei-  n]'  jieiici-. 

A)id  bathe  in  its  blissfnl  tide  ; 
And  one  of  the  joys  of  life  siiall  he 

The  little  boy  tJiat  died. 


^ 


O R A  X GE    B LOS SO M S . 


iUcmaries  of  tbc  ^Mb  ilittbcn; 

'^—■^-^  J  ■-■      ^ 

Far  back,  in  my  musing-s,  my  thoug-hts  have  ]>een  cast, 

To  the  cot,  where  the  hours  of  my  childhood  were  passed, 

I  loved  all  its  rooms,  to  the  pantry  and  hall, 

But  that  blessed  old  kitchen  was  dearest  of  all. 

Its  chairs  and  its  table,  none  brig-hter  could  be. 

For  all  its  surrounding-s  were  sacred  to  me, 

To  the  nail  in  the  ceiling,  the  latch  on  the  door. 

And  I  loved  every  crack  of  that  old  kitchen  floor. 

I  rememl)er  the  fireplace,  with  mouth  high  and  wide, 

The  old-fashioned  oven  that  stood  by  its  side. 

Out  of  which,  each  Thanksgiving,  camG  puddings  and  pies, 

That  fairly  bewildered  and  dazzled  our  eyes, 

And,  there,  too,  St.  Nicholas,  slyly  and  still. 

Came  down  every  Christn^ias  our  stocking-s  to  fill. 

But  the  dearest  of  memories  I've  laid  up  in  store, 

Is  the  Mother  that  trod  that  old  kitchen  floor. 

Day  in  and  day  out,  from  morning  till  night. 

Her  footsteps  were  busy,  her  heart  always  lig"ht, 

For  it  seemed  to  me  then,  that  she  knew  not  a  care, 

The  smile  was  so  gentle  her  face  used  to  wear. 

I  remember  with  pleasure,  what  joy  filled  our  eyes, 

When  she  told  us  the  stories,  that  children  so  prize. 

They  were  new  every  night,  though  we'd  heard  tliem  before 

From  her  lips,  at  the  wheel,  on  the  old  kitchen  floor. 

I  remember  the  window,  where  mornings  I'd  run 

As  soon  as  the  daybreak  to  watch  for  the  sun. 

And  I  thought  when  my  head  scarcely  reached  to  the  sill, 

That  it  slept  thnjugh  the  night  in  the  trees  on  the  hill. 

And  the  small  tract  of  ground  that  my  eyes  there  could  view, 

Was  all  of  the  world  that  my  infancy  knew. 

Indeed,  I  cared  not  to  know  of  it  more 

For  a  world  in  itself,  was  that  old  kitchen  floor. 

To-night,  those  old  visions  come  back  at  my  will  ; 

But  the  wheel  and  its  music  forever  are  still, 

The  band  is  moth-eaten,  the  wheel  laid  away, 

And  tlie  fingers  that  turned  it,  lie  mouldering  in  clay. 

'-  J^ 


Ag 


ORANGE     BLOSSOMS. 


The  hearthstone  so  sacretl,  is  just  as  'twas  then, 
And  the  voices  of  children  ring  qut  there  again. 
The  sun,  through  the  window,  shines  in  as  of  vore. 
But  it  sees  stranger  feet  on  the  old  kitchen  floor, 
Shklbuexe  Falls,  Mass. 

Sophia  P.  Sxow. 


For  the  love  of  a  woman  is  truly  lur  lilV, 

And  Uic  faith  of  tlu^  woman  hlooiiis  out  in  tlic  wifi-  ; 

And  till-  trust  of  a  woman — no  lioiicr  thinu- 

Is  known  in  the  climes  where  the  S('ra|)hims  sing, 

And  I   wisli  hiT  no  brighter  a  future  to-(liiv 

'i'lian  the  hive,  I'aith  and  trust  tli;it  will  never  decay 

Till  the  (hirk  angel  coines  with  his  shadowy  wings 

And  hears  her  awav  from  earth's  cliaiiireahle  tliinsrs. 


Oh  I  take  her,  my  darling,  my  treasure,  m^^  pride. 
For  your  life-long  companion,  your  love  and  your  bride  ; 
Take  the  joy  and  the  sunshine  away  from  my  life. 
And  clasp  to  your  bosom  your  angel,  your  wife  ; 
Take  my  one  lily-blossom — 1  will  not  complain, 
Th(mgh  my  mother-heart  ache  with  intenseness  of  pain  ; 
Though  niv  life  shall  be  darken'd  without  her,  I  know 
'Tis  a  wise  law  of  Nature — then  take  her  and  so  I 

1  have  borne  her  and  rear'd  her  in  sorrow  and  pain,  i 

But  the  sweet  compensation  l)rought  sunshine  again,  i 

And  the  touch  of  her  hand  and  the  sound  of  hiM-  voice  j 

SoothM  ever  my  heart-pain  and  made  me  rejoice  ;  i 

And  I  called  her  my  lily,  my  violet,  my  dove,  ' 

My  all  that  was  gentlest  and  fullest  of  love  ; 
But  a  stranger  hath  won  her  affection  away, 
And  she  leaves  me,  my  darling,  she  leaves  me  to-dav  I 

Oh,  fold  round  her  closely  the  stront;  arms  of  love  !  i 

Prot(U't  h{?r,  caress  her,  my  jiet  laml),  my  dove  ; 

13e  her  strength  and  her  shelter,  be  tender,  lie  mild, 

And  may  God  deal  with  you  as  you  deal  with  niv  rlilld  !  ' 

1  know  her  devotion,  my  daughter,  vour  wife  ;  i 

I  know  that  lier  love  is  as  stron<x  as  her  life  ; 

I  know  that  she  gives  you  her  heart's  purest  trust,  ■ 

Oh,  ni-'er  let  her  idol  fall  down  in  the  dust  !  ! 


^  *    o- 


'-^U^ 


^ 


ORANGE    BLOSSOMS. 


My  darling-,  no  cloud  would  I  east  on  your  way  I 
1  WILL  smile  when  I  bid  you  farewell,  love,  to-day  ; 
But  remeuiher  me,  dear,  when  your  young-  heart  is  full. 
When  the  twilight  sinks  down  with  its  exquisite  lull, 
When  love  flings  around  you  its  mystical  charms. 
And  you  rest  all  content  in  a  husband's  dear  arms — 
Give  one  thought  to  vour  mother,  now  sittino-  alone 
With  her  dearest  one  a]>sent — her  sweet  sona'-bird  tlown  I 

Go(id-bye  !  may  God's  blessings  go  with  you,  my  child,. 
As  you  leave  the  old  home,  by  Love's  magic  beguiled  ; 
God  bless  both  my  children,  and  keep  you  for  aye, 
Still  fond  and  still  loving  through  life's  thorny  way. 
And  all  thoug"hts  that  are  selfish  shall  siidc  out  of  sight. 
While  your  young  hearts  are  happy — ^your  morning  star  bright; 
But  in  sorrow  and  pain,  when  your  tears  fall  like  rain, 
This  heart  shall  unfold  to  embrace  you  again  ! 

This  life  is  all  meetings  and  partings,  I  know  ; 

One  half  is  of  blossom,  the  other  of  snow  ; 

And  the  children  we  rear  to  maturity's  flower 

Must  be  planted  afar  in  the  stranger's  home  bower  ; 

While  they,  in  their  turn,  must  yield  their  treasures  up — 

Mxist  taste  in  their  turn  of  the  same  bitter  cup  ; 

Then  go,  my  dear  children,  God  speed  on  your  way,  ^ 

Not  a  cloud  would  I  cast  on  your  young  hearts  to-day  1 


T 


-^ 


ORANGE     BLOSSOMS. 


^IH 


%  |ibs  at  tbc  g0oi\ 

We  were  standing  at  the  doorway — 

My  little  wife  and  I  ; 
The  golden  sun  upon  her 

Fell  down  so  silently. 
A  small  white  hand  upon  my  arm, 

What  could  I  ask  for  more 
Than  the  kindly  glance  for  loving  eyes, 

As  she  kissed  me  at  the  door  '? 

I  know  she  loves  with  all  her  heart 

The  one  who  stands  beside  ; 
And  the  years  have  been  so  joyous 

Since  first  I  called  her  bride. 
We  've  had  so  much  of  happiness 

Since  we  met  in  years  before  ; 
But  the  ha]){)iest  time  of  all  was 

When  she  kissed  me  at  the  door. 

Who  cares  for  wealth,  or  land,  or  gold, 

For  fame  or  matchless  power  ! 
It  does  not  give  the  happiness 

Of  just  one  little  hour 
With  one  who  loves  me  as  her  life — 

She  saj'S  she  loves^me  more — 
And  I  thought  she  did  this  morning, 

When  she  kissiul  me  at  the  door. 

At  times  it  seems  as  all  the  woi'ld, 

With  all  its  wealth  of  gold. 
Is  very  small  and  poor  indeed, 

(yompared  with  what  T  hold  ; 
And  when  tlie  chnids  lian<>:  a:rim  and  dark, 

OP?  ' 

1  only  think  the  more 
Of  her  who  waits  th(^  coming  step, 
T(j  kiss  me  at  the  door. 

If  she  lives  till  atre  shall  scatter 

Its  frosts  upon  her  head, 
I  know  six;  '11  love  iiic  just  the  same 

As  the  morning  w(!  were;  w(m1  ; 
But  if  the  ang(;ls  call  li(!r, 

And  she  goes  to  heaven    bcfoic, 
T  shall  know  licr  wIhmi   I   iiifct  licr. 

For  she ''II  kiss  ni«-  :il   tlir  door. 


"  x\ye  ;  but  wait,  good  wife,  a  minute 
I  have  first  a  word  to  say  : 

Do  you  know  what  day  to-day  is  ? 
Mother,  tis  our  wedding-day  ! 


"  Jvist  as  now,  we  sat  at  supper 
When  the  guests  had  gone  away  ; 

You  sat  that  side,  I  sat  this  side, 
Forty  years  ago  to-day  ! 

"  Then  what  plans  we  laiil  together  ; 

What  brave  things  I  meant  to  do  ! 
Could  we  dream  to-day  would  find  us 

At  this  table — me  and  you  ? 

"  Better  so,  no  doubt— and  yet  I 
Sometimes  think — I  cannot  tell — 

Had  our  boys — ah,  yes  !  I  know,  dear 
Yes,  He  doeth  all  things  well. 


"  Well,  we  've  had  our  joys  and  sorrows  ; 

Shared  our  smiles  as  well  as  tears  ; 
And — the  best  of  all— I  've  had  your 

Faithful  love  for  forty  years  ! 

"  Poor  we  've  been,  but  not  forsaken  ; 

Grief  we  've  known,  but  never  shame — 
Father,  for  thy  endless  mercies 

Still  we  bless  Thy  Holy  Name  !  " 


-«^ 


I  OJ^A  ^'  GE     B  LOS  S  O  M  S  . 


''■- — -  ■-> 

A   AYoMAx's   Conclusions. 

I  said,  if  I  niio-ht  o-o  Ijack  ao'aiii 

To  the  very  hour  that  gave  me  l)irth  ; 

Mioiit  have  my  liio  whatever  I  chose, 
And  live  it  in  any  part  of  earth  ; 

Put  j)erfect  sunshine  into  my  sky, 

Banish  the  shadow  of  sorrow  and  doubt  ; 

Have  all  my  ha])])iness  multiplied, 
And  all  my  suU'ering-  stricken  out  ; 

If  I  could  have  known  in  years  gone  by, 
Th(!  best  that  a  woman  comes  to  know  ; 

Could  have  had  whatever  will  make  her  blest, 
Or  whatever  she  thinks  will  make  her  so  ; 

Have  found   the  highest  and  j)urest  l)]iss 
Tliat  the  bridal-wreatii  and  ring  enclose  ; 

And  gained  the  one  out  of  all  the  world 
That  my  heart  as  well  as  my  reason  chose  ; 

Ami  if  this  had  bcMMi,  ami  1  stood  to-nia'ht 
Jiy  my  children,  lying  asleej)  in  tlieir  beds, 

And  could  count  in  my  prayers  for  a  rosary. 
The  shining  row  of  thi.'ir  golden  heads  ; 


ft 


Yes  !   1  said,  if  a  mirat-le  such  as  this 

CouM  bi'  wroMirht  for  me,  at  mv  bidilin"-,  stil 

I  wonlil  choose;  to  have  mv  |)art  as  it  is. 
And  to  let  mv  futiin-  (!om<;  as  it  will  ! 


I    would  not   maki-  the  path    I    liavctrod 

.More  pleasant  or  ev<Mi,  mori-  straight  ni-  wide 

Nor  change  my  course  the  breadth  of  a  hair, 
'J'liis  way  or  that,  to  either  side. 


'3 


f* 


^ ^ — ».^ 

ORANGE    BLOSSOMS.  ' 


My  past  is  mine,  and  I  take  it  all  ; 

Its  weakness — its  folly,  if  you  please  ; 
Nay,  even  my  sins,  if  you  come  to  that. 

May  have  been  my  helps,  not  hindrances  ! 

If  I  saved  my  body  from  the  flames. 

Because  that  once  I  had  burned  my  hand  ; 

Or  kept  myself  from  a  <^reater  sin 
By  doing  a  less — you  understand  ; 

It  was  better  I  suff"ered  a  little  pain, 

Better  I  sinned  for  a  little  time. 
If  the  smarting-  warned  me  back  from  death, 

And  the  sting  of  sin  withheld  from  crime. 

Who  knows  its  strength,  l)y  trial,  will    know 
What  strength  must  be  set  against  a  sin  ; 

And  how  temptation  is  overcome. 

He  has  learned  who  has  felt  its  power  within. 

And  who  knows  how  a  life  at  the  last  may  show? 

Why,  look  at  the  moon  from  where  we  stand  ! 
()j)aque,  uneven,  yovi  say,  yet  it  shines,    , 

A  luminous  sphere,  complete  and  grand  ! 

So  let  my  part  stand  just  as  it  stands. 
And  let  me  now,  as  I  may,  grow  old  ; 

I  am  what  I  am,  and  my  life  for  me 

Is  the  best — or  it  had  not  been,  I  hold. 

Phebe  Gary. 


It  might  have  been  !  Ah  me  !  Ah  me  ! 

It  might  liave  been  !   Nay,  rather  rest 
Believing'  that  what  has  been  is  best. 

The  life  whose  sun  is  not  yet  set 
Can  find  no  room  for  vain  regret, 

And  only  folly  crowns  as  queen 
Its  might  have  been. 


14 


r^ 


O R AX GE      B  LOS  S  O M S . 


^jri. 


r 


Jlcatb  to  tbc  ^^qcb. 

^ — ■'     ^        ^   -  ■ — ^  '> 

The  aged  too  must  die.     They  who  passed  safe 

The  perils  of  their  tiny  infancy, 

Tlie  dangers  that  lay  hid  amongst  the  flowers 

Where  heedless  childhood  gamboled,  and  the  shafts 

Of  sickness  that  beset  the  paths  of  youth  ; 

They  long  have  triumphed  o'er  the  pains,  the  ills, 

The  saddening  trials  of  life's  downward  road  ; 

They  long  have  borne  the  aching  heaviness, 

The  burdens  various  of  protracted  yeai's  ; 

But,  though  life's  cord  be  yet  unloosed. 

Death's  summons  come  to  them,  and  they  too  die. 

Death  cometh  to  the  aged,  ae  the  night 

Comes  to  the  weary  child.      It  is  "  so  tired," 

So  heavy  with  the  yearning  of  repose, 

It  asketh  not  for  food,  for  toy,  or  play  ; 

Its  only  wish  is  to  lie  down  and  slee]). 

So  to  the  aged  comes  the  night  of  tleath, 

With  slow,  still  step,  and  lays  his  shadowy  hand 

Softlv  and  reverently  on  their  brow. 

And  they  anew  put  on  the  robes  of  youth. 

And  meet  the  loved — long  since  accounted  lost, 

All  radiant  with  celestial  brightness. 

And  loving  with  the  ever  raptured  joy 

Of  beatific  spirits,  as  they  welcome  home 

The  "good  and  faithful  servant"  to  his  regt, 

The  place  prepared  by  his  ai)})roving  Lord. 

Tears  drop,  all  gently,  when  the  aged  di(;, 

For  now  their  work  is  don(!,  and  they   have  long 

Craved  h(;avenly  doinicilc      This  world,  for  them, 

Has  nothing  more  :   mortality  at  ])est, 

Is  but  a  burden,  a  deep  throe  of  pain  : 

On  (!arth  they  laljored,  loved,  yet  sullered  oft, — 

Now  heavenly  fruition  comes.     We  do  not  weep 

As  wh<;ir  the  lovely  s])ring-I)ud  of  life's  hope 

Lies  cold  upon  its  mother's  lieavirig  l)reast  ; 

\W-  do  not  mourn  as  when  our  summer  joy 

Is  witlK'r'd  in  tin;  blooming  ;   or  ;is  when 

Th(!  fruits  of  iiutumu  perisli,  immature. 

It  is  as  when  the  full  ripe  shejif  is  borne, 

All  rich  with  treasure,  to  tlie  grjuunv  ; 

And,  therefor(!,  tli<^y  an;  blessed  who  attain 

The  reverend  estate  of  winter's  years. 


i 


'S 


:5ll8i2 


O R  A  NGE    B L  O S  S  OMS. 


All  ang-el's  voice  proclaimed,   "  Blessed  are  the  dead 

Who  die  ill  Christ  the  I>ord,'"  for  they  rest — ay, 

They  resti     Yes,  iiiouniiiig-  friend!  their  toils  have  ceased  : 

The  little  one  that  withered  in  life's  spring-  ; 

The  beautiful  v^^ho  died  in  summer's  bloom  ; 

The  strong-  who  fell  in  autumn  ;  and  the  old. 

Who  in  gray  winter,  went  to  their  repose  ; 

They  rest  secure  above.     And  if  we  inig'ht, 

Would  we  recall  them! — when  we  too  approach 

The  throne  where  "  crowned  with  llg^ht,"  for  us  they  wait  ? 

Oh,  blessed  be  our  God,  for  life,  for  death, 
But  most  for  Christ  and  inuiiortality  ! 


Gather  ye  round  me,  friends  !  for  such  ye  are. 

O  mute  companions  of  my  thoug-htful  mood  ; 
Mute,  yet  all-eloquent,  your  bright  Ijows  bear 

The  seal  of  welcome  to  your  solitude. 
Friends,  who  will  fail  me  not  in  your  high  worth. 

Your  tones  immortal  thrill  my  raptured  ear — 
Your  eyes,  unaltered  'mid  the  change  of  earth, 

Beam  kindly  on  me,  and  I  feel  that  here 
Mv  heart  hath  fovind  its  home.     Bright  beinofs  of  the  mind! 

Children  of  Bard  and  Sag-e  !     Ye  strang-ely  gifted 
To  glorify  tTie  beautiful,  enshrined 

In  my  soul's  temple  ! — how  have  ye  uplifted 
With  the  calm  radiance  of  your  thoughts  sublime. 

My  spirit  above  the  ills  and  fleeting  forms  of  Time. 

E,  Jessup  Eames. 


€vi.  i\\\. 


^- 


There  comes  a  time,  a  time 
When  all  our  tears  and  toils  shall  cease  ; 
The  bitter  tears,  though  ready,  shall  be  stayed  ; 
The  toil,  though  incompleted,  never  shall  be  done  ; 
When  we  shall  close  our  aching  eyes,  and  clasp 
Our  hardened  hands  and  be  at  ])eace — 
Thank  God,  thank  God  for  that  ! 

E.  L.  Bknton. 


i6 


22  8  B 


GKiVF  JALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


m 


;  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FAClL|-n^ 


I         AA    000  416  417    4 


• 


"r>/.',3 


» 


^ 


'A^^' 


